Browsing Category

Travel

Breaking bread

February 5, 2011

There’s a popular Egyptian proverb: “Baynaatna, khobz wa milah.”

Between us, bread and salt.

It means that if I break bread with you, I trust you. We have shared our traditions, we have nourished ourselves at the same table, we have been seated side by side — and so, there will be no fighting between us.

As violence raged in Egypt, with protestors all over the country demanding the resignation of President Hosni Mubarak, I was in desperate need of a little bread and salt. Though I was far from any danger, hunkered down in the little Red Sea town of Dahab, I was incredibly worried about gas, food, water and money shortages, and I was skeptical about my chances of leaving the country if the situation got worse. The government had already cut off the internet, there was little news coming our way, and the U.S. Embassy was absolutely no help. The lack of information was downright scary, and I didn’t know if it was safer for me to stay or go.

So on Sunday, I paid a Bedouin man to drive me out of there. He took me from Dahab up to the northern port town of Nuweiba. I was disoriented, upset, frightened.

The Bedouin man gave me food. It was what he could find and afford — hot dog buns, potato chips, fruit cocktail — and it was a feast, considering the circumstances. Before he left me for the night, he gave me a package of chocolate cookies and instant Nescafe coffee, a gift of nourishment for the journey ahead.

The next morning, I woke up in a seaside hut. I was cold, hungry, lonely. I was fretting about the ferry that was supposed to take me from Red Sea into Jordan. The stress made my stomach hurt.

Then another Bedouin man took me out for a typical Egyptian breakfast — fries, falafel, pita bread and fuul, a slow-cooked paste made from fava beans, tomatoes, onion, spices and swirls of tahini.

Sitting in a nameless cafe, I shared hot falafel with strangers and received sustenance that went far beyond the food.

Between us, bread and salt.

I’m not positive, but it might have been the best meal of my life.

To make your own Egyptian breakfast, try this falafel recipe — and then share it with someone.

Ingredients:

  • 1 cup dried chickpeas or 16 oz. can of chickpeas or garbanzo beans.
  • 1 large onion, diced
  • 2 cloves of garlic, chopped
  • 3 tablespoons of fresh parsley, chopped
  • 1 teaspoon coriander
  • 1 teaspoon cumin
  • 2 tablespoons flour
  • Salt
  • Pepper
  • Oil for frying

Directions:

(Omit these steps if using canned beans.) Place dried chickpeas in a bowl, covering with cold water. Allow to soak overnight. Drain chickpeas, and place in pan with fresh water, then bring to a boil. Allow to boil for 5 minutes and let simmer on low for about an hour. Drain and allow to cool for 15 minutes.Combine chickpeas, garlic, onion, coriander, cumin, salt and pepper to taste in medium bowl. Add flour. 

Mash chickpeas enough to mix ingredients together. You can also combine ingredients in a food processor. The result should be a thick paste.

Form the mixture into small balls, about the size of a golf ball. Slightly flatten.

Fry in two inches of oil at 350 degrees until golden brown, about 5-7 minutes.

Serve hot with tahini sauce, hummus or stuffed inside a pocket of warm pita.

 

Travel: It’s elementary

February 5, 2011

My sister has been playing “Where in the World is Maggie?” with her second-grade classroom, using my trip as a cool way to introduce the kids to different cultures and countries.

So a couple of weeks ago, while I was in the U.S. for family matters, I popped into the class for a surprise visit.

It was SO FUN. The kids were a delight, far more excited and engaged than I ever imagined they would be.

While I perched on a plastic chair, they sat around me in a half circle on the floor, asking smart questions like, “What’s the saddest thing you’ve seen?” “What do people in Uganda get for Christmas?” and “How do the kids dress in Egypt?”

They went nuts over a photo I took of a mummy foot inside the Egyptian Museum. (They especially loved the fact that it’s a “secret photo,” i.e. taken with my stealth iPhone, since photography is forbidden inside the museum.) And they oohed and aahed over my pictures of rhinos, gorillas and elephants. For the first time I could see my trip from a 7-year-old’s perspective, and it was a delightful change of view.

They had such innocent and insightful things to say about the world, and it was truly an inspirational morning. For them, I hope I’ve motivated them to learn more about other people and travel for themselves. And for me, it reinvigorated my trip — it made me feel like I’m doing something important and special.

Best of all, the class sent me off with a stack of fabulous thank-you notes.

Also, I need to give a big shout-out to Mrs. Klarer for constantly finding cool ways to help children learn. I’m incredibly proud of my sister. She’s the kind of teacher that kids remember long after they are grown.

 

The problem with women

February 1, 2011

While a revolution was taking place in Egypt, I was stashed away at a Bedouin camp, prepared to flee the country — and having one of the most bizarre conversations of my life.

I was sipping tea with the owner of the camp when he said …

HIM: Can we speak freely?

ME: Of course.

HIM: What do you call that problem of women?

ME: Problem?

HIM: Yes, where the stuff comes out of them.

ME: Like a baby?

HIM: No, the stuff! Like in here. (Pointing to his wrists).

ME: Oh, veins? No, wait. Blood? Ohhh, blood.

HIM: Yes! What do you call that?

ME: We call that a “period.” Or the more technical term is “menstruation.” Or some people call it “moon time,” but those people are hippies.

HIM: Ah. Period. (He suddenly looked very serious.) It is a problem.

ME: It’s actually healthy and normal.

HIM: And it is why women get eaten by sharks.

 

Going home to say goodbye

January 12, 2011

Yesterday, when my mom died, there was the most extraordinary sky, where the sea and the air seemed to fuse into one.

Photographers lined the boardwalk in Dahab, oohing and aahing over the magnificent colors and the abundance of beauty. And I bet they had no idea it was just my mother saying goodbye.

I’m going home for a little while. The world tour continues Jan. 27.

 

Egypt: The good, the bad and the really, really ugly

January 10, 2011
Soon after The Husband arrived in Cairo, we decided to brave the subway system during rush hour.
A crush of people funneled into the already crammed cars, with everybody pushing, shoving and screaming in Arabic. We instinctively moved for the quiet, subdued car that only had a handful of people inside.
Once safely inside, we each breathed a sigh of relief. Then my husband looked around.
“There are only women on this car,” he said.
“So? Lucky you!”
“No, I don’t think I’m supposed to be here,” he said.
Just then an old lady approached him and spit in his face, “Ladies only!”
We panicked, screamed and scrambled into the next car — which was filled with only men. I screamed again and ran around in circles, looking like some kind of deranged chicken. I cursed and shouted random metro stops at my husband. “Oh shit oh shit oh shit. Hadayeq El-Maadi! Or was it Thakanat El-Maadi? No, I think it’s El-Malek El-Saleh! Just exit this car in three stops!”
I finally hopped onto the ladies car just as the train was leaving the station.
That incident quickly made me realize that Egypt is dramatically different from any other place I’ve visited. First off, Egypt comes with numerous religious traditions to respect, unwritten rules to follow, cultural landmines to navigate. I think I offended 15 people in my first hour, and I wasn’t even trying.
On top of that, communication is difficult. Even when I didn’t speak the language in South America, I could at least make an English-French sandwich and come up with something that vaguely resembled Spanish. However, Arabic is an entirely different game: The script is beautiful but unintelligible to my eye, the words feel clunky on my fat tongue, and the numbers look like punctuation.
Overall, it’s been difficult. In the three weeks I’ve spent here, I’ve found a lot to love about Egypt — but only after a lot of frustration. To break it down:
THE GOOD

Pyramids. They’re every bit as awesome as you’d expect.

Temples, hieroglyphs and things older than Jesus.

Wonderful hikes, camel rides, diving and exploring, all with stunning scenery.

Dahab, a tiny slice of heaven at the Red Sea and my personal version of paradise. This is where I am resting, healing and getting strong again.

THE BAD

Smog, pollution and garbage everywhere. (This one is mostly directed at you, Cairo.) Also questionable sanitary conditions.

Constant harassment from vendors who won’t take no for an answer. My husband and I were tricked, followed, even physically assaulted by vendors. It’s exhausting, and it’s what tainted some experiences that should have been magical.

Aggressive men. The sexist and inappropriate behavior goes way beyond catcalls. I have been groped, slapped, smacked and fondled. Men deliberately walk into me and paw at my chest, grab my ass, reach between my legs. (Keep in mind that I have also been dressing modestly in pants, long-sleeve shirts and a scarf around my hair.)

Blatant ripoffs. For instance, the menus at restaurants often list a price in Arabic numbers, which is half as much as the inflated tourist price.

Bribes, payoffs and corruption. For instance, it is strictly forbidden to touch the Great Pyramid of Giza. So when I got close to it and a policeman ran up to me, I put my hands in the air and backed away to make it clear that I wasn’t doing anything wrong. The policeman said, “You want to touch it?” I said no. He urged me to put my hands on it. Again, I shook my head no. Finally he said, “You can touch it. It’s OK —  just give me baksheesh.” (i.e. a tip.)

THE UGLY

A terrible incident took place when my husband and I toured a temple on Elephantine Island.

A security guard ushered my husband and I into the temple ruins. Then he separated the two of us. He forced my husband to go with a guide into another part of the temple, then he pushed me into a secluded corner. Before I could comprehend what was happening, the guard nudged his gun against my hip and tried to smash his rotten teeth against my mouth. I firmly said, “No!” but he tried again. I slid away and managed to avoid him until I was reunited with my husband.

Afterward, both the guard and the guide wanted a tip, which we ultimately shelled out just to get rid of them.

So yeah. That right there had me longing for the ladies car on the subway — and sad that I felt that way.